


Useless

by Little Spoon (JaydenNara)



Series: Occasionally Domestic [21]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Derek Hale Takes Care of Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, Hurt Stiles, M/M, Protective Derek, Protective Sheriff, Sheriff Stilinski is a Good Parent, Stilinski Family Feels, Wolf Cuddles, Wolf Derek, casual nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 21:57:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13304118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaydenNara/pseuds/Little%20Spoon
Summary: Stiles wasn't a hero. Really, he wasn't. He was the idiot who jumped in front of a truck and became a useless lump of broken bones and bruises that couldn't even aim his dick to take a leak by himself. It was all fun and games until the guilt set in, but somewhere along the epic journey of nothingness, his dad and Derek bonded for life over his stupidity.





	Useless

Stiles completely lost his shit on a Wednesday. It was a week after he had been released from the hospital, and at first, he’d loved the sudden increase in attention, and had been shameless in exploiting Derek and his dad’s sudden need to dote on him. It had been fun to watch Derek scurry around the apartment at a mere suggestion or a quiet sigh. Even his dad had begun to willingly make healthy meal suggestions and choices to lessen Stiles’ apparent stress.

Relegated to cherished invalid, Stiles was waited on, hand and foot, twenty-four seven by his boyfriend and his dad, which included a myriad of increasingly ridiculous tasks from being carried from bed to couch to kitchen, cuddled by his favourite living, breathing, fluffy wolf-pillow, and sponge-bathed daily since his nearly full leg cast couldn’t go in the shower. His dad had only tried to help sponge him down once, and that had been enough. Apparently, it had been more than his dad ever wanted to see of his adult son, but Derek had happily, almost eagerly, taken over the duties. Not that Stiles could deny his boyfriend the honour of sponging his naked body because the end results usually led to a little more clean up.

But then, the had guilt set in.

Every pained whimper etched another crease into his dad’s already worried brow and sent Derek’s protective instincts into overdrive with his need to take care of Stiles. Derek and his dad did everything for him. Stiles wasn’t used to sitting back and doing nothing because he liked to be in on the action and throw himself into the fray. Relaxation hadn’t been a part of his vocabulary for a long time. Beacon Hills saw to that.

Moving to New York to attend Columbia had been a huge lift on the pressure and stress, a break in the nightmare of fighting for his life every single day, but he had thrown himself into his work, both school and job, to fill the sudden emptiness. No time to slow down. He planned to graduate with honours. But then, a little girl had chased a balloon into a busy street, and it hadn’t even been a choice for Stiles.

Stiles had woken up in the hospital almost a day later with a terrified Derek and his worried dad, who had flown across the country, at his bedside.

A little after two in the afternoon, Stiles was lying in bed in a pair of boxers, and nothing else. It was difficult to fit pants over his caste, and shirts were a little too warm in the unseasonably warm weather they’d been having. His cast was elevated on a short stack of pillows, and another pile propped him up against the headboard. A large black wolf was curled up beside Stiles on the bed. For whatever wolfy reason, scent possibly, Derek’s nose was tucked into Stiles’ armpit, and the occasional puff of hot air tickled.

Stiles pet Derek’s soft fur, running his fingers through the dark strands and played with the pointed ears absentmindedly while he read aloud from the latest novel in the series they were reading. His voice calmed Derek. It was something he learned a few months after he and Derek moved to New York. They hadn’t been dating yet, just friends. Inordinately close friends, but friends nonetheless.

Derek had woken up from a nightmare, a strangled roar echoing through their apartment. Stiles had been cautious in climbing the stairs to the little loft bedroom Derek had claimed, the same one his dad was staying in now, to find torn sheets and a partially shifted and trembling Derek gasping for air. He hadn’t recognized Stiles at first, bright blue eyes glowing in the dark. Stiles had crept across the floor, hands out in front of his body until his hand made gentle contact with Derek’s shoulder, and he had suddenly found himself pinned to the mattress with Derek growling down at him. Derek’s nostrils had flared, and then his nose had been buried in the juncture of his neck and shoulder, deeply inhaling his scent. For a long while, Stiles hadn’t done anything beyond what he was doing now, eventually finding a book and reading aloud to Derek until the werewolf breathed easy.

A muffled cheer from the television drifted into their bedroom from the living room where Stiles’ dad was watching the game. Which game, Stiles wasn’t sure. He’d never paid much attention to sports outside of his high school lacrosse team or occasionally watching Derek play with a few of the neighbourhood guys down at the courts a few blocks from their apartment.

Stiles’ stomach rumbled quietly, and Stiles whined as he rubbed his belly. He realized too late his mistake. Derek had already shifted back on the bed beside him, completely naked.

“What? What is it? Are you in pain?” Derek asked quickly. He placed a hand on Stiles’ forearm and frowned when there was no pain, beyond a little trickle of the ever present dull ache, to drain.

“No,” Stiles said with a dismissive wave of his hand. He refused to be hopped up on painkillers, and had only been taking half doses.“No, I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“Stiles?” Derek’s nostrils flared as he scented the air.

“It’s nothing,” Stiles insisted, but his stomach gave another twinge of hunger, and his heartbeat no doubt betrayed him because Derek narrowed his eyes.

“Stop lying,” Derek snapped. He rearranged and plumped Stiles’ pillows. “Are you uncomfortable? Do you need another pillow? Did you want to move? I can carry you to the couch?”

Stiles sighed, and Derek’s expression fell.

“Do... do you want me to leave?” Derek asked. His voice cracked.

“No!” Stiles cried. He sat up abruptly, sending a stab of sharp pain through his abdomen, and he clutched the bandage that bound his cracked ribs. “Ow, shit. ”

Bright blue glowing eyes stared down at Stiles as Derek eased him back down onto the bed. A low growl rumbled in the werewolf’s chest.

“God, Der,” Stiles grunted. “Fuck, calm down. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine!”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “It’s just my stomach,” he said, but even as the words came out of his mouth, he could already see Derek’s eyes widening in panic. “I hungry, that’s all,” he added quickly.

Teasing Derek wasn’t fun anymore. Sending his boyfriend on errands or running for a glass of water had been amusing at first, but now, Stiles deserved to have his head slammed into a steering wheel again. Derek’s hands were clenched tight at his sides, his brow deeply furrowed, and his jaw tight. Stiles’ big bad beta boyfriend was seconds from an alpha sized meltdown in the middle of their bedroom.

“I’ll make you a snack,” Derek said, already making a hasty retreat. And who was Stiles to argue?

With one of his legs in a cast, an arm in a sling, cracked ribs and collarbone, fractured skull, and his body a living, breathing Rorschach test, Stiles wasn’t in peak fighting form. In short, he was useless. If a rampaging alpha burst through the door, the best Stiles could do would be to fall out of bed.

“Derek, clothes!” Stiles called after his boyfriend, but Derek had already disappeared behind the curtain wall that separated their bedroom from the main living space of their apartment.

“Jesus, Hale,” Stiles’ dad shouted, and Stiles snorted. “Put some clothes on, son.”

A few seconds later, Derek slunk red-faced back into their bedroom while Stiles snickered gleefully from the bed.

“I did try.” Stiles grinned, and the werewolf paused to glare at Stiles, then grabbed a pair of loose basketball shorts and tugged them on, completely freeballing it. “My dad just doesn’t appreciate a true work of art when he sees it.”

Before Derek could rush off in pursuit of food again, Stiles’ dad pushed into the room. “Is he alright? Is something wrong?” he asked in a rush.

“Oh my god,” Stiles said. He threw his one good arm up, and then immediately winced when it jostled his cracked collarbone.

Stiles didn’t have a chance to settle back into the pillows because Derek was already draining his pain and gently easing him down while his dad adjusted the pillows and checked his sling.

“Does he need another painkiller?” Stiles’ dad directed the question to Derek and smoothed back Stiles’ hair.

Derek frowned. “Probably. It’s been a few hours. He complained about his stomach hurting from hunger.”

They continued to debate the best course of action over Stiles’ head while they smothered him with attention and care, while simultaneously acting as if he weren’t there. It had become apparent to the that Stiles needed an entire meal, more painkillers, another sponge bath, clothes, and his hair brushed. His dad would warm up the leftover salmon steak in the fridge while Derek stripped him down and washed him. At least they were getting along. A few days ago, his dad hadn’t even known they were dating, but Stiles’ idiotic heroics had bonded them for life.

Stiles huffed and batted away Derek’s hand. “Seriously. Enough!” he shouted. His stomach dropped when Derek flinched back, eyebrows drooping like a scolded puppy. Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Sorry. No, you know what, I’m not sorry. I’m not fucking sorry. I’ve been trapped in this bed for days. I need to get out! I’m going crazy. You’re not even listening to me. Not really. I just want a snack. Maybe some popcorn while we watch a movie or I kill some aliens or something. Anything. Derek, I love reading to you, I do, so don’t walk away from this with a giant ball of man pain thinking you're forcing me, but the bed has a perfect imprint of my butt. I love you both, but you’re driving me nuts.”

The room was silent. The steady tick of the ornamental clock in the other room echoed through the loft. Derek’s shoulders were stiff, his muscles coiled, ready to bolt, and his eyebrows were scrunched in uncertain worry.

“Der...” Stiles started.

“Why don’t you carry Stiles to the couch and get him settled, son,” Stiles’ dad interrupted. He clapped Derek on the shoulder, and to his credit, ignored the werewolf’s visible flinch. “I’ll pop the corn while you two pick out a movie. I’ll catch the highlights later.” And then he left Stiles and Derek alone in the room.

Stiles gnawed on his lower lip while he studied to the moles and the smattering of hair that trailed down on his bare stomach. The hair on his arms prickled as Derek continued to stare.

“Stiles, I-”

“Nope. Uh uh,” Stiles cut in. He looked up into Derek’s broken expression, and his heart stuttered in his chest. “You are not taking the blame for this. I fucked up, dude. I shouldn’t have taken my frustration out on you.”

“But-”

“You haven’t been smothering me,” Stiles said before Derek could verbalize his misplaced guilt. “Well, I mean, you have, but I appreciate it. Dude, you’re awesome. Now come here so I can use you as a wolfy crutch and snuggle the shit out of you on the couch.”

Obedient to a fault, Derek helped Stiles to his feet, wrapped an arm around Stiles’ waist so he supported the majority of his weight. All Stiles had to do was lightly hop along on one leg with Derek guiding him. The flexing of Derek’s bicep against his waist told Stiles that Derek was holding himself back from simply picking him up and carrying him, for which Stiles was grateful because needed some semblance of independence, even as little as the appearance of independent hobbling.

Derek eased Stiles down onto the couch and surrounded him with pillows, plumping each one before he tucked it in behind Stiles’ back. Stiles smiled when Derek lifted his broken leg with the greatest expression of concentration etched into his forehead, and the corners of his eyes crinkled.

“God, you’re adorable,” Stiles sighed.

Derek blinked up at him from where he was crouched next to the coffee table. Somehow, he still didn’t believe Stiles, even when his heart never skipped a beat because Derek was the sweetest, most endearing man he had ever met. Their past may have been rocky in Beacon Hills at first, especially with Derek having threatened to rip his throat out with his teeth on a semi-regular basis, but his entire view of Derek as a person changed the day he lost Erica, and then shortly after, Boyd.

The air popper hummed to life in the kitchen, and his dad tunelessly whistled along to the sporadic ping of kernels. Tomorrow, Scott would arrive and throw the domestic peace into chaos, but for now, Stiles was content. He patted the seat beside him, and Derek perked up.

“You wanna lose the shorts and shift back, big guy?” Stiles asked, but Derek shook his head. “Alright then.” He flung his arms wide open. “Take me.”

Instead, Derek climbed onto the couch beside and curled around Stiles, mindful of his various injuries, and held Stiles like the most precious thing in the world. He was still wrapped around Stiles, nose buried in his neck, fifteen minutes later when Stiles’ dad wandered back in with a bowl of buttery goodness and ruffled Stiles’ hair as he passed behind the couch.

“So, what are we watching?” his dad asked, ignoring the werewolf snuggled tight to Stiles’ side.

“The Lord of the Rings,” Stiles said, and Derek huffed against his neck. His dad plunked the bowl down in his lap, and he dug in with gusto. “Extended release, duh.”

“Oh good lord.” The couch creaked as his dad stood up again. “I need a beer.”

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the Sterek A-Z, weekly one word prompts, challenge being done on Tumblr with [isthatbloodonhisshirt](http://isthatbloodonhisshirt.tumblr.com/).
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr: [Always the Little Spoon](http://always-the-little-spoon.tumblr.com/)


End file.
